


This Love...

by Ponderess



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Pining, Relationship Study, Sexual Content, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5290112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderess/pseuds/Ponderess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Whatever it is about Ushijima that leaves him wanting more of the time they spend in bed together, he cannot say. It feels so random and ridiculous. The sex doesn't do much for Tōru, but Ushijima does — the</em> thought <em>of Ushijima does. He finds himself grinning at the mere memory of the moments he gets with Ushijima. Iwa-chan comments that he's beaming like a lovesick fool and he tells Iwa-chan what nonsense such a suggestion is. He's not in love, clearly, he doesn't even know how that's supposed to feel. But by himself he has to admit that "lovesick" feels somehow fitting — mostly for the "sick" part.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	This Love...

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to "This Love (Will Be Your Downfall)" by Ellie Goulding and it sounded like Ushioi to me, so three weeks later I present you with this. I'm planning to write a second part, but I don't know how long that will take me. Also, maybe I got a little too hung up on Oikawa's nephew mentioning Oikawa's girlfriend breaking up with him.
> 
> Manga spoilers for chapter 148, because I had to use my favourite Ushioi scene. It fit so well.

The nights are getting late again. The ball in his hand, the weight of it when he throws it, when it touches his palm and he pushes it forward through the air — he has it all memorised, ingrained in his body and mind. And yet he feels like he has to experience it again, has to repeat the same movements over and over, so he'll be familiar with every detail. The time passes and the coach declares that the training is over for the day, but it's not enough — it never is.

Iwa-chan tells him not to overwork himself and Tōru doesn't listen. He says that he's just going to toss another ball — five at most, that isn't too much — he'll be going home right after. But he doesn't count the balls he serves in the empty gym, he doesn't keep track of the minutes that tick away, he's got an opponent to defeat and with this new school year an upstart on his heels to keep in check. It's too soon to rest. He has to go over his technique one more time.

Then another hour has passed and he's finally putting away the volleyballs he's spread over half the court. He's quick in the showers and when changing at least, every of his movements is efficient. He checks his phone on the way out, not because he's waiting for anyone to be in touch, it's just a habit. There's a missed call from Yuri and a message from half an hour ago.

_Where are you? Didn't you say you'd come over right after practice?_

It's Friday, one of the two days in the week Tōru can't get away with arguing that he shouldn't stay out too long. You can sleep in on the weekend, there's no harm in that. It should be worth spending some time with his girlfriend. That's what Yuri says and he can't exactly disagree.

_Sorry, practice took longer again and I'm exhausted, so I'm calling it a night. I'm coming over tomorrow._

Tōru types the message quickly and only feels a little guilty when sending it. It's not a lie, it's just that he cancelled their last plans for the same reason. During the week he's busy with club activities and homework, on the weekends his mind is still preoccupied with training and future matches. He means to make it up to her, but then never gets around to it.

In the early stage of their relationship Yuri understood and was supportive. After all, the spring eliminations were going on and she knows how important volleyball is to Tōru. But even during the time when there were no official matches his behaviour didn't change and recently she's become more impatient. He can't blame her; it's just that he keeps forgetting about her when he's caught up in practice.

Tōru doesn't worry that there's no reply from Yuri on his way home. She's probably sulking, but she'll come around — she always does. He just has to tell her sorry with a sweet smile on his lips and everything is forgotten again. She'll kiss him and wrap his arm around her shoulder and he'll feel only a little ashamed that it probably wouldn't make much difference to him if she didn't forgive him right away.

But Tōru miscalculated, for once. Yuri awaits him in his room when he gets home and he can't muster a smile or offer a convincing apology and she doesn't even bring it up. There's no complaint that he keeps cancelling their plans or barely has time for her. Instead she kisses him long and deep, she gives him a look that he can't read and locks the door behind him. Sometimes — no matter how good he knows them — people surprise him and take him off guard.

Maybe because it's so unexpected Tōru lets her pull him along. He thinks this is the next step in their relationship, that it's only normal to take it, he thinks that he should want this and really there's no reason not to. So he follows Yuri's lead. His fingers feel clumsy as he fumbles out of his clothes, his hands feel uninspired as he touches her bare skin. Her breasts and hips are just curves of her body, no shapes that leave him excited. Her thighs are just thighs — everyone's got those.

Tōru feels disconnected. His body reacts to her touch, but his mind keeps wandering. It feels like way too much work for something that is supposed to be so pleasuring. He cannot let go, cannot lose himself in the moment like he thinks he should. There's hesitation in each of his movements and if it weren't for Yuri silently encouraging him — her touch gentle yet persistent — he might've just given up.

There's too much awareness, there are too many thoughts that drown out the sensation in his body as he pushes into her. Their laboured breaths, the sweat on his skin, Yuri's thighs around his waist — it leaves Tōru underwhelmed. Each touch of his is deliberate, a conscious movement he chooses to make. It's always like that. Touching others doesn't come natural to him. But he managed to gain some routine over time as he repeatedly initiated it whenever he thought it appropriate. Maybe sex is the same. Maybe it just needs some time and practice until it becomes a habit.

Release comes, leaving him exhausted and empty. Disposing of the used condom is just another technicality he forces himself through before he finally can drop onto the mattress and stop moving. Yuri curls up at his side, rests her head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around her absentmindedly. She whispers a few words about it having been nice and he's not sure if she really means it or if she's just trying to say something good about the mistake they just made.

Tōru feels a semblance of regret, as if he just made a bad judgement call. He tries to draw a parallel to volleyball where he's used to making a lot of decisions that ensure the best outcome. He doesn't tend to regret what he does on the court, even if the result isn't always favourable to him. But on the court he's in his element. Sleeping with Yuri was like entering uncharted territory and he wasn't prepared. He can't undo it now, but maybe he shouldn't repeat it any time soon.

Yuri lifts her head from his shoulder to kiss him on the cheek, but Tōru turns away. He didn't mean to — or maybe he did. He can't look at her, not like this, not now. The thought of any further affectionate gesture makes him want to pull back from her. It's a lie. It's always been, he was just too ignorant to realise that.

Tōru's been playing make-belief all this time. Getting a girlfriend because everyone says that's what you do at this age — because he thought that he wanted one like everybody else — seeing Yuri because she _liked_ him and it was flattering and a little exciting. But now the pieces have clicked into place and he doesn't want a relationship, really, he just wants to be alone. He feels ashamed, because it took him so long to figure it out. He feels guilty, because it has to be now after he let her coax him into something he doubts either of them was actually ready for.

Yuri's movement sends slight tremors through the mattress and causes the sheets to rustle. Tōru still can't look at her.

"What?" she prompts, her tone sounding suspicious.

He doesn't answer — wouldn't know what to say — but she's onto him and he struggles to keep the guilt off his face. Being somewhere else would be good now, anywhere.

Yuri is starting to get flippant. "Are you thinking of volleyball again?"

He wished; he really wished he was. It would beat the dreadful feeling in Tōru's stomach. It would be better than thinking about how he wronged her. But that's more wishful thinking that won't come true. He screws his eyes shut tightly, failing increasingly to hide his internal struggle. Drawing his arm out from under her, he rolls away and sits up on the edge of the bed.

"No, I'm not," he presses out.

There's a moment of silence and Tōru can almost pretend she's not here. He rubs his face, especially his weary eyes, trying to collect his thoughts to some extent at least.

"So I'm really not good enough," Yuri concludes and her voice is close to breaking.

Shocked, Tōru looks at her over his shoulder. This is not about her, it's about him and what a mess he is when dealing with people that want a close connection to him. He just doesn't know how to do it and he wants to tell her what a fuckup he really is — just this once — but he wouldn't even know where to begin.

Yuri shakes her head, blinks twice as she looks up to the ceiling and breathes out a dry laugh. " _God_ , I'm such a _fool_!"

Tōru wants to disagree — _no, you're not, the only fool here is me_ — but he's still tongue-tied. He watches her wipe tears from her eyes and his insides twist with growing guilt which tears at them. If only he reached out, he could try to comfort her, but he's paralysed. Besides, he doubts she would welcome it.

"Well then," Yuri says after a deep breath, trying to keep her composure.

She inches off the bed and starts picking up her clothes. Her hands are shaking as she hastily slips into her underwear. Tōru looks away again. He can't bear to watch.

"I'll leave you be then," Yuri announces, voice still weak as she fights back more tears. "Don't bother calling — though I doubt I have to tell you that."

He can hear her hasty footsteps as she heads through the room and the sharp "ass!" she hisses before slamming the door shut on her way out. Then he's alone and buries his face in his hands, mostly from exasperation. Yuri hates him now and he can't blame her. If she tells the whole school tomorrow what a jerk he is, that would be her good right. _Yes, tell everyone. Tell everyone to stay away from Oikawa Tōru._

* * *

Tōru sticks to what he knows: the feeling of the ball when he taps it with his fingers, the movements of his hands which he uses to direct its course. He goes through the regular training regime of the coach, adds a few extra tosses afterwards and takes Mondays off to rest. He fakes a smile and proceeds with business as usual — he always does no matter how he actually feels.

There are rumours, but they have little basis. Tōru doesn't say anything and neither does Yuri, so the only thing the other students can gossip about is how she's pointedly avoiding him. Iwa-chan is the only one to directly ask him what's up, but Tōru deflects the honest remarks of his friend with cheerful obliviousness even though they both know he's putting up an act.

If things stay like this, he can be okay, Tōru thinks. Absolve his training, achieve good grades in school, spend some time with his friends and family, win the preliminaries for the Inter High and finally make it to the national stage. But things don't stay like this — or maybe it's the fact that the one thing he really wants to change doesn't which gets to him.

Shiratorizawa remains on top and there Tōru thought defeat couldn't taste any worse. There's something about Ushijima Wakatoshi that rubs him the wrong way. He isn't sure if it's just the fact that he can't seem to be able to beat Ushijima on the court or if there's actually something about him as a person which Tōru can't stand. That's why he can't help but laugh at the irony when he manages to avoid everyone except Ushijima the Saturday right after their match.

"What's so funny?" Ushijima prompts with a frown. Probably he didn't expect to be greeted like that. While someone like Iwa-chan would be annoyed or irritated, though, he seems genuinely confused.

Tōru couldn't care less what Ushijima might think of him in this moment. Explaining himself would be just a waste of time. He's not going to stick around anyway. He shakes his head and the smile he gives is maybe a tad too bitter. "Never mind, it doesn't have to concern you, Ushiwaka-chan."

"Don't call me that, Oikawa."

The response sounds automatic. Ushijima keeps saying that whenever Tōru provokingly addresses him as "Ushiwaka-chan", but it's impassive every time and Tōru wonders if he just has a very high threshold before getting visibly worked up or if he actually doesn't care if Tōru drops the nickname or not. Of course Tōru ignores it.

"Well, I'll be going then," Tōru announces, making his voice sound carefree and unbothered. Not upholding the smile for his act, he turns on his heels to leave, but Ushijima catches hold of his wrist and it takes him off guard.

"Wait."

Ushijima's tone is calm and not even demanding, but Tōru obeys nonetheless. He doesn't have much of a choice, does he, when there's a tight grip locked around his lower arm, holding him in place. As he turns around, he looks at the fingers wrapped around the sleeve of his jacket and then up at the person they belong to. The surprise must be obvious in his face, but he doesn't care.

Overcoming his initial shock, Tōru scrunches his nose. He's not trying to keep his irritation out of his voice when he demands: "What?!"

Ushijima releases his grip and takes a step back. If he runs for it now, Tōru might be able to get away, but he's not trying to escape a predator. He was just intending to avoid an unpleasant encounter, but he's not unreasonable. If Ushijima requests him to wait, then he'll do that. For a minute. Begrudgingly.

At least that's the air Tōru wants to give off. In truth he's intrigued. He wouldn't have pictured Ushijima to actually reach out to someone — definitely not to him. Tōru wonders what brought that on. Ushijima never showed any particular interest in him. On bad days, he even figured he was just some annoying fly to Ushijima that gets lazily swatted away and eventually crushed. Better not to let Iwa-chan know about such thoughts.

Yet here they stand face to face and only at Ushijima's request. His expression is hard to read as always. Tōru actually can't remember ever having seen a change in those stoic features. How annoying.

"My house is just around the corner," Ushijima offers without any further ado.

Is this how he navigates all the conversations he has? Just jump the gun and leave the people he addresses to try and follow up with him? Tōru has to wonder, because he realises he's never had any interaction with Ushijima away from the volleyball court — and the ones they'd had never lasted very long.

"And?" Tōru questions his reasons with a sceptical gaze.

"Join me, we can talk."

Ushijima's suggestion is so absurd, Tōru declines on the spot. "I don't want to talk."

"Maybe we can do something else instead," Ushijima follows up, apparently not discouraged by being turned down.

Tōru cocks his head to the side in curiosity. He's not ready to go along with it, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued. What the everloving fuck is going through Ushijima's head, he cannot fathom.

"Are you up for some distraction?" It's supposed to be an elaboration, most likely, but Ushijima isn't making his intentions any clearer.

Distraction from what, Tōru wants to ask. Of course there's the memory of their last match fresh on his mind and he would appreciate not having to think about it. But Ushijima wouldn't be the person he'd choose to spend his time with to achieve that. Yet the idea is so absurd — even more absurd than the suggestion they could talk — he just has to see how that might turn out. Besides, Ushijima seems insistent on interacting with him and that's new. It's a little flattering, on some strange level.

So a while later Tōru finds himself in Ushijima's bedroom at his house. Tōru doesn't laugh at that ironic twist of fate. He's still not even sure why he came along in the first place. His ego is not that gullible — at least he'd like to think so. He doesn't even _like_ Ushijima. He doesn't hate him either. Maybe. Thinking about it, he doesn't know what to make of Ushijima as a person.

Tōru feels out of place in the room of someone who's effectively a stranger to him. Especially since he's here alone, waiting for his host to return from the shower — not that he wanted to keep Ushijima from washing off the sweat from an excessive afternoon jog. But he doesn't know what to expect from this whole situation. What even was he thinking?

Trying to keep himself busy, Tōru lets his eyes wander over the neatly organised shelves and the almost empty desk. The lack of items lying around in the room is a little eery. He's on top of things when it comes to keeping his belongings in order, but Ushijima seems to outdo him in terms of tidiness. It makes the room lack a personal note — or maybe the neatness and simplicity in which things are arranged are exactly that. Off the court, he doesn't know Ushijima, so he cannot tell which assessment is actually true.

Off the court, Tōru doesn't know Ushijima at all. So he's puzzled when Ushijima returns wearing only a towel around his hips and shuts the door as if it was nothing. Though he doesn't want to stare, his eyes keep wandering back to Ushijima's bare chest, because it's so unexpected and feels uncalled for. They aren't friends, they aren't even teammates, so what is he doing here and why is he given reason to fear that Ushijima is going to drop that towel any moment and get dressed right in front of him as if he weren't even there?

That's not what happens though, because Ushijima heads straight towards Tōru, cups his face and kisses him. He's taken aback by this sudden approach more so than by the lack of clothes. His response is almost a habit. Yuri liked to kiss him unannounced half of the time and he's learned not to back off in complete bewilderment. His mind is racing, though, trying to figure out how it ended up like this.

It makes no sense that a stranger would come up and kiss him — that Ushijima Wakatoshi would come up and kiss him — wearing only a towel nonetheless. Tōru pulls away abruptly as something clicks in his head and he's finally assembled all the facts and assessed the situation, determining that this is really not what he came here for. There's a lot he wants to say — like list all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

The last time he had sex it ended in a disaster, so maybe that should be reason enough to stop things before they go too far — because where else would things be going if Ushijima starts kissing him half naked. Tōru may not be experienced with sexual encounters, but he isn't an oblivious fool either.

"Is this what you meant by 'distraction'?" is all he manages to ask despite his better intentions.

It doesn't need a clear yes, because it's unmistakable when Ushijima inquires instead: "Do you not want this?"

Honestly, Tōru doesn't know. He's confused and thinking has become an unexpectedly hard task when he also has to sort through impressions which seem increasingly distracting. There's a hand brushing softly over his cheek, swiping away some of his tousled hair and he's mesmerised somehow. This isn't the Ushijima he knows. This isn't the person he remembers from the court who stares him down and forces the ball through any block, one spike after another. And yet he's aware of the fact that it is indeed the same person, it's just another side of Ushijima he hasn't seen yet.

Tōru wants more of that. Because there was a passionate taste in that kiss and a gentle note in that touch and he wants to believe that his opponent on the court has more to him than the mechanic strife for victory Tōru only ever saw in him. There's also a curiosity about how it would be with a man — maybe not Ushijima specifically, but since he's here and since he's offering it, Tōru might as well take the opportunity. So he huffs a "whatever" and leans in again.

Ushijima comes on strong like a force of nature. His grip is firm, his mouth is demanding, his body seems unafraid of touch. He slides one hand to the back of Tōru's neck while the other wanders down and pulls Tōru closer. Compared to that his tongue feels almost gentle as it coaxes its way into Tōru's mouth, but maybe that's only because Tōru has given up on resistance and parts his lips at the slightest touch.

The thing about tongue kisses is that they include technicalities which strain him. Tōru always wonders how people take the initiative like that when for him it has to be a conscious decision every time and every movement that somehow includes contact with others is deliberate. Especially with the tongue thing he hasn't really figured out how to keep up, he always feels like he's bullshitting his way through and is surprised no one commented on it yet.

Generally, Tōru knows how to respond, though. Sometimes he gets swept away by other people's motions — if he lets them come close enough. This is one of those times, despite him still not being exactly sure about what they're about to do. It's not like he's feeling anything new so far — he can barely make out Ushijima's hungry mouth trailing its way down to his neck and then sucking a little harder at one spot. So this probably won't result in a revelation, but he's still curious. He's curious what those strong hands will do to him.

Once more Tōru succumbs, because if he has an opportunity to try it out, then why shouldn't he? They're not in a relationship and that makes it easier. If it'll leave him underwhelmed again, at least he won't have to feel guilty about it. There are no expectations to uphold — definitely not on an emotional level — no heartbreak will result from this.

Tōru lets Wakatoshi help him out of his clothes and push him backwards onto the mattress. He's cleared his conscience, now he only has to work out a way to make up for his inexperience. His body responds again to another's touch while his mind still tries to analyse everything and determine the best course of action. His hands can't seem to find a purpose until Ushijima entwines their fingers and pins them down while giving him another deep kiss.

Tōru feels his nerves acting up, but also a tinge of excitement. This is new and fresh which gives him a little thrill but primarily has him feel insecure and a little worried. When sleeping with Yuri, he had a vague idea about what to do, because he's heard about things here and there. Just how he's supposed to go about having sex with a man, he has no clue. He hopes Ushijima knows what he's doing, but he doesn't dare to ask.

Ushijima doesn't speak, but he doesn't rush things either. The naturalness with which he produces a bottle of lube and a condom from his nightstand at least implies he knows what he's doing. It's a little reassuring. He doesn't give a warning about the strange sensation his finger causes when entering Tōru, but he gives Tōru time to adjust to it before carefully adding another finger. Tōru focuses on breathing.

As odd as the stretching feels, he doesn't complain. Tōru welcomes being able to remain passive for the most part, to just respond as opposed to having to initiate anything. It puts his mind somewhat at rest, because he doesn't have to constantly worry how his opposite feels about the way he's touching them. That's at least one less string of obnoxious thoughts which could cause him discomfort to deal with.

It's not like things suddenly fall into place. Being with a guy or a girl really makes no difference to him — Tōru understands as much by now. But he wonders if it could've been anyone but Ushijima who kissed him so insistently and pushed him onto the mattress. He wonders if it makes any difference to Ushijima who he's bedding.

Ushijima doesn't seem the type to get attached. His persistence to have Tōru come home with him may be just something he'd use with anyone as long as he gets into their pants as a result. Tōru wouldn't know about any of his habits. But there's a moment, right after he entered Tōru, when he pauses before beginning to thrust: he's looking down and pushes back strands of dark brown hair and holds on to Tōru's cheek for a few seconds.

Something in Ushijima's eyes captivates Tōru even though he can't pinpoint what it is. It seems surprisingly soft and gentle and he can't remember anyone ever looking at him like that. He wonders if maybe he isn't just a random pickup for Ushijima, but if it's actually about _him_. That would be a nice sentiment, though he doesn't think it's likely, he's just imagining things. He reprimands himself for how ridiculous that is.

Tōru doesn't know why he's looking for a meaning in how Ushijima asked him to come here or is occasionally meeting his eyes in between thrusts. He doesn't know why his mind is trying to attach some kind of sentiment to this situation when sex has no particular significance to him in the first place. He doesn't know why he's thinking about feelings when until this moment there was no connection between him and Ushijima apart from a sense of rivalry on the court that may have been just one-sided. His mind can get some silly ideas and sometimes he wishes he was better at blending them out — definitely right now.

Again Tōru can't give himself up to the moment. He can't shut off the thoughts that drown out the full extent of release when it comes over him. He can't help but feel spent and vaguely empty in the aftermath. He can't ignore the mess he's made when coming onto his own stomach. Ushijima takes care of that without needing to be asked and he wonders if that's another indicator of the routine Ushijima seems to have with this kind of thing.

Tōru remains sprawled out on his back to catch his breath while Ushijima takes care of throwing away the used condom and putting the lube back into the nightstand. Now that it's over he feels out of place again, like he shouldn't be here. The sheets are rumpelt beneath his body. Somewhere their clothes are scattered on the floor: a mess that shouldn't exist in a room as tidy as this.

Now that it's over, there's no point in staying. Ushijima had his fun, Tōru had his experience. There's nothing left to say, is there? They haven't come here to talk in the first place, Tōru refused that offer. So he gets up from the bed and starts gathering up his clothes. Getting dressed, he announces that he should go. Ushijima barely nods and leaves him to it until he rushes out of the house.

His mind is wired up, his thoughts repetitive, going in circles, always over the same things. Ushijima's fingers entwined with Tōru's, his lips, his eyes, his touch… Should Tōru have done anything differently? Would he have, if he'd just used his brain more (or less)? He thinks about regrets, he thinks about mistakes and he thinks that sleeping with Ushijima really can't be the worst thing he's ever done.

It's certainly an improvement, given that the first time he had sex with someone ended in tears. This time there are no feelings involved, so it's far less likely that either of them might get hurt. Tōru certainly prefers that — not that he has the desire to ever do it again. Sex is overrated. But should he ever indulge in it another time — and right now he can't see that he would — it's better with no strings attached.

* * *

But the strings have been woven — somehow, Tōru can't even say why it happened — because his mind's sadistic streak does not discriminate against himself. It's called masochism in that case, isn't it? Either way, it's ironic how he found another way to be hung up on Ushijima — as if trying to defeat him on the court wasn't hard enough already. That whole encounter was just too ironic — he should've gotten out of there as soon as possible. But he had to take some kind of _interest_ and now he's paying the price.

Tōru thinks about going back, about asking what the hell that was about and if it has some semblance of meaning at all. He can't say himself and it's bothering him even though he thinks it shouldn't. Part of him wants to take back what happened, undo it somehow. Another part has latched onto the memory of it and doesn't want to let go. It leaves him wondering and confused and yes, if he hadn't gone along with it he wouldn't have Ushijima Wakatoshi occupying his mind in any way that isn't about volleyball and how to beat him on the court.

So Tōru dedicates himself to training again, because that's something he can make sense of. He avoids Iwa-chan's worries hidden behind harsh words. Yet his mind keeps wandering back to Ushijima and trying to make sense of their intimate encounter. It comes in waves until he heads back to that neighbourhood and finds his way to Ushijima's house and into his room again. Something tells Tōru he shouldn't be here, but after things with Yuri he realised that he can't navigate relationships apart from family bonds and casual friendships, so he gives up on thinking he knows what best to do.

There are things Tōru wants to say — that's what he came here for — but his tongue is tied with Ushijima staring at him. He doesn't know how to approach Ushijima beyond the teasing remarks on the court. He doesn't even have it in him to address Ushijima as "Ushiwaka-chan" like he usually does. He only knows two ways how to be with Ushijima: one is as opponents in a match, the other is being pinned down by Ushijima and getting fucked.

Tōru wants something and it certainly isn't the former. So he steps closer, takes a moment to get over himself and goes in to press his lips onto Ushijima's mouth. There's doubt circling the corners of his mind and when Ushijima doesn't respond immediately he breaks the kiss after a short moment. They just stand there, way too close for his comfort zone, and the look on Ushijima's face is questioning.

What do you say in a situation like this, Tōru wonders. _Take me?_ That would only end up making things awkward. He isn't one for seduction or dirty talk — in fact he has no fucking clue how to do that. If he's honest, he doesn't want to anyway. Though it would probably be a clear signal for what he's trying to initiate here.

As it turns out, Tōru doesn't need to announce anything, because Ushijima grabs him by the hips and pulls him closer. He waits as Ushijima's face hovers right in front of him, before he receives the response to his kiss. It seems he made himself clear after all, just that it took Ushijima a moment to grasp his meaning — or to decide whether to go along with it.

Tōru's hands are still so useless. He knows perfectly well how to hit a ball and direct its course, but what does he do with his arms while making out? He's too busy trying to match Ushijima's lip movement — he can't be creative with his hands at the same time. So he vaguely rests them on Ushijima's lower back and hopes that will suffice.

Meanwhile Ushijima's hands moved on to other things like cupping Tōru's face and then tousling Tōru's hair. He can do that, apparently. He's far from shy, not minding at all how their bodies are pressed against each other while Tōru feels a little too conscious of it.

Ushijima lets go of him and takes a step back, causing Tōru's hands to slip limply from his hips. Using the gained free space, he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He notices how Tōru's gaze follows the movement and gets stuck on the floor where the article of clothing landed. For some reason Tōru gets hung up on the thought that carelessly letting stuff lie around doesn't suit the atmosphere of the room, when really he should be worried about other things right now.

"What is it?" Ushijima inquires, oblivious to his musings.

Tōru tears his eyes away and looks at Ushijima again. "Don't you…want to pick that up?"

"Why?" There appears a furrow in that otherwise dispassionate brow. "Does it bother you? Are you a neat freak?"

"No?" Tōru becomes defensive at that suggestion. That's not what he was worried about. It seems he misjudged Ushijima, however, because the only one concerned with the shirt lying on the floor right now is Tōru. He doesn't want to return the question, because it feels too inappropriate for some light teasing and he's not trying to piss Ushijima off. But backing out now without explaining himself would be even ruder.  "But I thought you were…"

Ushijima looks at him with a glint in his eyes and — did the corners of his mouth just twitch upwards a little bit? "Not right now."

Shivers run down Tōru's spine at the low pitch of his voice. That was kind of unexpected. And electrifying. Tōru feels scrutinised by those dark brown eyes. He forgot how intense they can be. It throws him off in a way that would be best described as 'feeling insecure and a little defenceless'. The fact that Ushijima is no longer wearing a shirt doesn't help.

Tōru is still out of his element the less clothes are involved. It means more skin to tend to and he already struggles when it comes to the face and the neck area. He knows about kissing — because honestly, who doesn't? — but apart from that he isn't very creative. Just stretches of bare skin he feels compelled to caress, but they leave him uninspired.

Deciding to try something out, Tōru wraps his arms around Ushijima's neck. He cocks his head in an attempt to be playful — even though right now that really doesn't come natural to him. The smile is the easier part, though he can't be sure if it's actually as suggestive as he intends it to be. Ushijima's hands flatten against his back and apply just enough pressure to make him inch a little closer. It's softer the next time their mouths meet.

"Do you want to switch?" Ushijima murmurs in between kisses.

Tōru needs a moment to process that. Once he has, he pulls back in shock. "What?"

That better doesn't mean what he thinks it means, because the idea of switching roles with Ushijima and being the one to fuck _him_ is mildly terrifying. Tōru didn't come here prepared to put in that much effort. He didn't come here prepared to admit to his inexperience either — nor his disconnection for that matter. The sex is not an issue per se, but he doesn't want to _work_ for it.

Ushijima looks at Tōru with an expression that wouldn't be any different if he were scrutinising a plain white wall. It gives no indication of what he's thinking. Tōru can't make out a single hint that would help with reading his mind anyway.

"Do you want to top this time?" Ushijima rephrases his question.

_Nope. No. Absolutely not! Just let me lie there and get fucked, I don't want to think about what to do!_ Tōru keeps his undeniable dislike of the idea from his face. At least he tries to, he can't be sure if he's succeeding. He takes a short moment to ensure he's calm enough to respond and maybe it looks like he's considering things.

When he speaks he manages to sound satisfyingly casual, as if he wasn't bothered by the idea in the slightest. "Maybe another time."

The fact that he just suggested there would be a next time at all doesn't register in his brain. He's a bit too concerned about how convincing his act is and the reaction it receives.

There's another twitching of Ushijima's lips — or maybe Tōru is just imagining it, because of the way his eyes lighten up again. With notable ease, he picks up Tōru — who has the presence of mind to hold on to him despite being surprised — and carries him over to the bed. The way he drops Tōru onto the mattress isn't the most pleasant thing, but when it comes to sex Tōru learnt by now that it's never as smooth as it's shown in the movies.

Tōru reverts to being passive, because that's how this sex thing works best for him. He came here looking for answers, but words failed him and the touches they exchange are leaving him underwhelmed. If there's anything beyond the pursuit of physical pleasure, Tōru can't filter it out.

But this time Ushijima delays the cleaning afterwards and pins him down in another kiss as if to say that he won't get away as easily as last time. He lets himself get coaxed into an embrace and there he's still not done with wondering. Maybe if Ushijima wasn't so incredibly hard for him to read, he'd be able to figure it out.

* * *

Tōru gets hung up and that's just his luck. Against his better judgement he keeps seeing Ushijima and they have sex and he never asks any of the questions that have started piling up in his head. It means nothing, he tells himself, and it's both a relief and so very frustrating.

He doesn't want to _be_ with anyone. He doesn't know how to open up to people or how to make them a significant part of his life and certainly not how to make it last. The theory of it sounded good in his head, so he thought it was something desirable. But the more he considered things since breaking up with Yuri, the less appealing it seems to him in practice. He can't imagine there could ever be anyone he'd trust enough to share all his well-kept secrets with.

But Tōru enjoys the attention he receives from Ushijima. Given his popularity, he's familiar with being in the spotlight and it leaves him unaffected most of the time. Yet once in a while he's flattered by the way someone looks at him or treats him. It's random and there's no discernible pattern to it, but it will decrease his resolve to keep everyone at a formal distance and he'll take advantage of it instead. If he couldn't be an ass like that he probably wouldn't have started dating Yuri in the first place.

Whatever it is about Ushijima that leaves him wanting more of the time they spend in bed together, he cannot say. It feels so random and ridiculous. The sex doesn't do much for Tōru, but Ushijima does — the _thought_ of Ushijima does. He finds himself grinning at the mere memory of the moments he gets with Ushijima. Iwa-chan comments that he's beaming like a lovesick fool and he tells Iwa-chan what nonsense such a suggestion is. He's not in love, clearly, he doesn't even know how that's supposed to feel. But by himself he has to admit that "lovesick" feels somehow fitting — mostly for the "sick" part.

Especially when Tōru's mood plummets again and suddenly everything about Ushijima is upsetting. The attention he receives is not enough, Ushijima sharing nothing about himself isn't fair, the fact that sex is the only thing to bring them together hurts. He's always the one to come around because one day without Ushijima already feels like he's missing something impartial in his life — is this what people describe as someone being their other half? What a ridiculous notion, he refuses to acknowledge it. After all it's not like he can't be without Ushijima, he just doesn't want to right now. There's nothing wrong with indulging in something once in a while, on the weekend when he's free from training.

In his mind, Tōru's constantly drawn to Ushijima, however. Staying away during school days is hard — harder than he would ever admit — yet it's probably for the better, because the less exposed he is to Ushijima, the less Tōru can lose himself to him. Besides, he's really not in it for the sex, yet the sex is his only excuse. For once, he wants to ask Ushijima to hold him without the whole ordeal of getting undressed and kissing and preparing and fucking — just to see how it is. But it feels like he'd be going against some unspoken rule they never established.

Tōru overanalyses every little thing Ushijima does and says for a hint which could tell him that at least — if he has to be pining — it's mutual. It's ridiculous, he knows, but he can't get over the lack of signs he could interpret in his favour. He questions Ushijima's investment and he thinks that it isn't his place to do so and he wants more and he wants nothing of this at all. He's yearning and he's torn and at times it leaves him feeling dejected. He doesn't understand it, he doesn't understand himself.

It wears Tōru down and he can't remember ever being so immensely happy in one moment and then incredibly upset in the next — all because of the existence of one person and that one person ending up in his life and messing with him like that. He thinks he should end it, stay away from Ushijima to regain his sanity. Still he doesn't do it, he doesn't find the resolve to, he doesn't _listen_ to himself. It starts feeling like an obsession and his own inability to get a grip on things leaves him upset. He hates it; he hates the mess he has become. He's angry at Ushijima for making him feel like that and angry at himself for letting it come so far. Sometimes he just wants to scream. How did this happen, how did he end up like this?

Missing people, touching people — neither things have been particularly relevant in Tōru's life before. But now he's lying in his bed before falling asleep and wishes he could wrap himself up in Ushijima's arms — so much it feels as if he's physically aching. He doesn't recognise himself anymore. This need to be with someone, to know about someone is consuming who he used to be. And still he hasn't asked one single question to try and uncover the mystery that is Ushijima Wakatoshi.

There's so much to bring up. Tōru comes to realise that he desires communication most of all, yet it's so awfully lacking when they're together. They have nothing to share beyond the physical — at least Ushijima doesn't and Tōru doesn't dare to break with the rule he feels imposed on him by Ushijima's silence. It's strange how he got weary of Yuri asking about his life and his thoughts and his feelings, yet when it comes to Ushijima he wouldn't mind — when it comes to Ushijima it's what he wishes for.

Tōru catches himself staring at Ushijima's face in another moment of wishful thinking, after they breathlessly put their bodies to rest on the mattress. It's strange to think how he used to dislike looking at Ushijima out of a sense of bottled-up inferiority and wounded pride. All he saw was the opponent he couldn't defeat who was so impassive while he tasted the bitterness of losing on his tongue over and over again. Now he likes to study those features which so rarely change, but when they do — oh what a sight!

When Ushijima turns his head over, Tōru tries to look away as unsuspiciously as possible. It could've been just a quick glimpse; he doesn't need to know that Tōru was watching him attentively. But maybe he did notice it. Maybe Tōru was too obvious about it and he isn't as oblivious as he sometimes seems. Subtlety may not be one of Tōru's notable qualities.

Tōru's eyes are examining the empty ceiling while he's very aware of Ushijima's intense gaze on him. For how long have they been lying here on their backs by now? It's probably best if he leaves before this ends in some kind of awkward staring contest. He'd be worried to lose it along with some of his dignity. That's not something he can afford.

"Are you lonely?" Ushijima speaks up unexpectedly and his words have no apparent context.

Turning his head sideways again, Tōru meets those brown eyes which have him fixated. He wonders what Ushijima is thinking, what prompted him to ask that. The answer isn't in Ushijima's face, unless Tōru's reading skills left him when it comes to other people's expressions. He doubts that, however. Ushijima is just the type whose way of thinking he can't really uncover unless he probes Ushijima for his reasoning.

"Why would you ask me that?" Tōru inquires, avoiding a proper reply.

Ushijima blinks once, that's all the movement his face displays. "Because you keep coming back."

A chuckle escapes Tōru's lips and it probably sounds more amused than he feels, because he _feels_ caught. Of course it's obvious that he keeps coming back — he wasn't under any illusions to be able to hide it, since the evidence is that he is here, time and time again. Yet Tōru wouldn't have expected Ushijima to give it much thought — which he apparently has, considering that he's bringing it up. He wouldn't mention it otherwise, would he?

Tōru turns on his side, so he can get a better look at Ushijima's face. Something intrigues him about the simplicity of the question even though the answer feels much too personal to disclose. He hasn't given it much thought, but maybe he _is_ lonely. Not in the typical sense of having no one to spend time with, but in that disconcerting and hopeless way where he requires the company of one person and one person alone to not feel like something's missing. Really, why did it have to be Ushijima to affect him like that?

The answer is not something Tōru would want to share. It feels like giving away too much. At least it's nothing he'd admit to Ushijima — not at this point anyway. So he decides to try and switch things around and inquire something of his own.

"Don't you want me to come back?" It's not as personal as Ushijima's question feels, but it might tell Tōru just a tiny bit about what's going on in that head of his.

Ushijima doesn't flinch or bat an eye. "I didn't say that."

That's an underwhelming response, but Tōru isn't even surprised. "Then where's the problem?"

"I didn't say there was a problem."

Every statement is so curt and direct and the pitch of Ushijima's tone hasn't changed one bit. Tōru is at a loss and doesn't even notice Ushijima is being just as evasive as he is.

"So what was this all about?" he inquires, inching just a little bit over.

Ushijima rolls onto his side and suddenly he's a lot closer than Tōru intended to get to him. Pushing himself up on one arm, he hovers over Tōru and the smile on his lips is unmistakable this time as he leans in.

"I was curious," he mutters before their lips touch.

Tōru is slow to respond as he's being pushed onto his back. His mind is too preoccupied with those words. What exactly do they mean and why is it making him so undeniably weak-willed as if he could melt under Ushijima's touch? He gives in for just one moment — one moment he allows himself — then he pulls back.

"My, you're actually curious, Ushiwaka-chan," he teases and the matching grin is easily displayed, despite his inner confusion.

"Don't call me that, Oikawa," Ushijima requests as expected.

This might be the game they played the longest — leaving their competition on the court aside — so Tōru is a little sad at the thought of abandoning it. But he's feeling playful and they had sex more times than he can count on one hand (though he isn't sure about including the other hand — it can't have been that often, can it?) so they probably shouldn't bother with family names anymore.

"Alright, Wakatoshi-chan," Tōru relents, giving his voice a sickly sweet note to keep up the act. "But then you have to call me Tōru."

Wakatoshi grunts as if in complaint. He moves in for another kiss but Tōru inches away and gives him a challenging look. He'll have to voice what's bothering him before he gets his way.

"Drop the -chan," Wakatoshi orders and as he leans in this time their mouths meet.

"Mhhh," Tōru hums teasingly between pecks. He won't give up so easily — he will give up, but not without a bit of a fight.

"Tōru, drop the -chan."

A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads beneath Tōru's navel. It's just his name, so why does hearing Wakatoshi say it get to him so much? He can't just turn the sensation off — even if he'd like to — so he uses their kiss as a cover to regain his composure.

"I'm just being affectionate," he offers then, evading Wakatoshi's lips once more. "Don't you want me to be affectionate?"

Wakatoshi pauses and gives him a serious look. "You're mocking me."

Tōru smiles. There's the fact that his teasing succeeded and it makes him gleeful. But it's also the realisation that Wakatoshi saw through him and it's both exciting and a little scary. Playing off the insecurity he feels, he wraps his arms around Wakatoshi's neck and pulls himself up so he can whisper into Wakatoshi's ear. "You're more perceptive than I thought, Wakatoshi."

Wakatoshi rolls onto his back, leaving Tōru no choice but to follow along, entwined as they are. As he clumsily tumbles into Wakatoshi from the momentum of their turn, Tōru breaks out into delighted giggling. It's not his intention, but it overcame him and he can't hold it in.

"You're laughing." Wakatoshi is stating the obvious, but Tōru is still too preoccupied with calming down to point that out. "Earnestly."

That gives Tōru pause and the smile fades from his face as he meets Wakatoshi's gaze. Only Iwa-chan ever comments on his smile. Only Iwa-chan ever notes if it's fake or not. He didn't think anyone else would notice. He doesn't want Wakatoshi to notice. Because if Wakatoshi does, his charade is in danger. How can he hide what he's feeling if Wakatoshi can see through his masked smile?

"I should go," Tōru notes abruptly and pulls away.

Wakatoshi releases Tōru without protest. Maybe he's surprised, maybe he's confused, maybe he doesn't care — how the hell is Tōru supposed to know? Tōru is too upset to bother thinking about it anyway. He's too busy trying to keep his hands from shaking as he gathers up his clothes from the floor to pay any heed to Wakatoshi's lingering on him. He's too preoccupied with anticipating his escape to be bothered by Wakatoshi's passiveness.

Wakatoshi remains lying on his back and doesn't say a thing. He doesn't try to stop Tōru who hastily gets dressed in the quietness occupying the room — he never did and he never will. As far as Tōru is concerned that's how it is and it's not going to change even if he wished for it. He rushes out of the door, leaving Wakatoshi behind without a word, and his heart is beating faster and he hates it. By the time he stumbles into the street he thinks that this must be how Yuri felt after they broke up and it's just too ironic for him not to smile bitterly.

* * *

Things fall apart. Tōru should've seen it coming, but now he reached his limit. He fights the urge to see Wakatoshi, because he's scared of what he might face. It's one thing if he can't fool himself, but if Wakatoshi can see through his act then he might as well drop it. He wouldn't actually — no fucking way! — but given he would, what would be left? The admission that the sex was just an excuse for him to come around and that really they don't want the same thing? He's not ready for that, he's not willing to do that, so if he can avoid it he gladly will.

At least that gives him the resolve he needs to break it off. He doesn't make it official — his arrangement with Wakatoshi was never official to begin with — he doesn't say anything at all. He doesn't trust his mouth when he's with Wakatoshi. He doesn't trust himself in general when he's around Wakatoshi.

So Tōru stops sending messages and he no longer shows up at Wakatoshi's place. It's a daily struggle to stay away and part of him hopes for a text asking why he's gone silent. It never comes and though it's what he expected he can't ignore the unpleasant taste of disappointment it leaves him with in between thoughts. It was always him to initiate their next meetup; it was always him to ask for more.

The feelings won't go away. Even though Tōru doesn't meet Wakatoshi, Tōru's thoughts keep coming back to him. It's like Tōru's mind only knows one priority it keeps bringing up and distraction only works for so long. He thought that with the distance things would start to fade out, but it seems to take longer than he would like. Wakatoshi is persistent, Wakatoshi is unrelenting — as an opponent on the court and as a memory on his mind.

Sometimes Tōru wonders if this is love indeed and if so, how can he get over it? He doesn't want this — he doesn't get how anyone could. He needs this to stop, so he can move on to other things, so he can move on with his life. Part of him wants to confront Wakatoshi. _Get the fuck out of my head! Leave me be or hold me and never let me go again._ It's not a very reasonable request and if he's being honest, Wakatoshi isn't at fault; he just needs someone to blame.

That doesn't change how it makes Tōru feel. He doesn't want his thoughts to revolve around one person, he doesn't need to experience so many feelings — not so vehemently it nearly drives him out of his mind sometimes. If the thing with Yuri taught him anything then that he doesn't know how to commit to someone, certainly not in the long run. He wouldn't want to ask for something he cannot uphold. Besides, what even would they do if all they know of each other is their bodies with sweat sticking to their skin?

Club activities, school work, and sometimes friends and family become Tōru's distraction once more. He puts away the magazine talking about Wakatoshi playing for the Japanese national team, he brushes over any mention of the name. All his efforts go into improving his skills and strengthening Seijō's team, because now he has to beat Shiratorizawa more than ever. He has something to prove: Wakatoshi doesn't own him and never will! It doesn't matter whether Wakatoshi actually tried to do that or not, Tōru needs the reassurance for himself.

Yet irony strikes again as if it had taken an interest in entering Tōru's life and messing with him. Seijō and Shiratorizawa don't meet on the court, because the crows swoop in and take the semi-finale of the spring preliminaries away from Tōru and his teammates. After all his hard work he won't even get his final chance to win against Wakatoshi in high school. If he said it wasn't frustrating, he'd be lying, but he carries on as he's used to do, gives Iwa-chan a strong pat on the back and they bow before their supporters. The tears don't flow. Tōru has practiced to hold them back for so long by now, he can't even remember how to let them out.

Fate is particularly cruel today, however, because he has the luck of running into Wakatoshi on the way out of the gym. Tōru thinks of what to say, but nothing comes to mind, so he decides against it. Wakatoshi is silent as well, he doesn't even react to the displeasure written all over Tōru's face. But just as Tōru is about to slip away without a word he speaks up.

"A piece of advice, Tōru."

The sound of his name by that voice makes Tōru stop involuntarily. He wasn't sure the thing with the first name was going to stick after he just walked out, but apparently it did and he regrets suggesting it in the first place.

"Don't keep walking the side roads."

It's an odd remark. At least Tōru wonders what it's going to build up to. What are these side roads Wakatoshi is talking about and what do they have anything to do with what the two of them had or didn't have. _Dammit_ , now Tōru has to stay and listen for sure or his curiosity will kill him.

"The path you chose was wrong," Wakatoshi continues, unaware of the thoughts running through Tōru's head. "Even though there was another place that would have brought out your strength more you didn't choose that better place because of that insignificant pride of yours."

So this is about volleyball? Of course it is. How foolish of Tōru to think that it could be about anything else. Like their little affair — or whatever they had — ever mattered. Just that his brain in its masochistic nature tries to read another meaning between Wakatoshi's plain lines. It was his pride that kept him from coming back — did Wakatoshi figure that out along with the other things he picked up on? But then the analogy would suck and really it's just wishful thinking.

"Are you saying that if I had picked Shiratorizawa over Seijō, then everything would be okay?" Tōru inquires as he turns around to face Wakatoshi. He's going to stick with the obvious topic of volleyball and not let his mind trick him into a one-sided exchange of hidden meanings. "There's no such thing as a team that always has guaranteed victories."

As so often, Wakatoshi's face shows no reaction, no indication of any thoughts which are occupying his mind. "Right now at least, isn't the place I'm at the strongest?"

Tōru is stunned by that remark. Then annoyance sets in, because Wakatoshi is just Wakatoshi. He's plain and direct and earnest and there really is no hidden meaning in his words and it's irritating. Clicking his tongue in anger, Tōru turns away, because he can't stand the sight of that impassive face right now.

"You're still the same," he remarks disgruntled. "You're so confident to the point where it's ridiculous."

Tōru is about to walk away. Upholding this conversation any further seems pointless, unless he really wants to be a masochist and suffer longer through the fury Wakatoshi sparks in him. Yes, leaving now would be a good idea, but there's something he still has to say, something he needs to make clear. It's a risk he's willing to take even if it might not have the desired effect in the end. So he takes a calming breath, because it's not worth getting worked up over this.

"…'insignificant pride', huh…," he echoes Wakatoshi's words. Tōru actually smiles at that suggestion without having to fake it. "Well, you aren't wrong."

With his regained composure Tōru can turn around and look at Wakatoshi's face again. He wants to see if there'll be any reaction in those unmoving features to what he's about to say.

"Listen, Ushijima." Tōru returns to using his family name on purpose. It's that one little jab he allows himself without having to worry about whether his behaviour can still be considered dignified. If Wakatoshi has any thoughts on this, it doesn't show.

"I have never once thought that I made the wrong choice." That is with regards to volleyball only, of course. Everything else is none of Wakatoshi's business. "My volleyball career is far from over. That 'insignificant pride' of mine…you better remember it."

Wakatoshi looks at him unfazed. It's probably his incredible confidence in his abilities that keeps him from showing any concern at this threat. Still, Tōru is satisfied. He made his declaration and he likes to think that it at least made some impression, even though once again he received no visible reaction. He misses those moments when Wakatoshi's eyes lit up or his lips spread into a smile. But Tōru can't have them back. He doesn't _want_ them back, he's just being silly.

"Oh and…" Another thing just crossed Tōru's mind that he wants to add. "If you keep only focusing on me, you'll be surpassed one day when you least expect it."

It's a warning of sorts. Tōru is not at the point where he would put Kageyama above him in terms of skill, but the strength of Karasuno's team is worth acknowledging at least. Knowing Shiratorizawa and their style of playing, he doubts Wakatoshi or any of his teammates are particularly worried about them. It would fill Tōru with some glee to see Shiratorizawa beaten by Karasuno, if he wasn't able to do it himself. There's a chance if Karasuno manages to enable their abilities well. He isn't sure how likely it is, but losing seems like a lesson Wakatoshi should finally learn. Besides it would give him the chance to say "I told you so" — even though Iwa-chan would call that sort of thinking childish.

"I'm focusing on you, because I know you."

Wakatoshi's words stay true to his habit of being straightforward and it chases away the satisfaction Tōru felt at the thought of telling him he was wrong. Couldn't he have lied just once? Couldn't he have kept this one thing to himself like he probably does with so many other thoughts he deems unnecessary to share? Tōru has been annoyed when dealing with him, even a little angry sometimes. But nothing compares to the fury Tōru's feeling right now. That kind of insolence is just too much! Tōru doesn't bother to try and hide it, he hopes Wakatoshi sees the rejection all over his face.

"No, you don't know me!" he corrects Wakatoshi, his voice low and trembling a little with how upset he is. "Don't you dare presume you do!"

Sometimes you hit this point where you're just fed up with the way things are and you're ready to quit. When a moment ago Tōru was still unsure about how long it might take him to really move on, now he feels absolutely ready to do so. He turns on his heels and walks away. He doesn't need the satisfaction of Wakatoshi calling after him — he's beyond that — so he isn't disappointed when it doesn't happen.

There are no regrets. Whatever happened between them happened. Certainly things would've been easier if Wakatoshi hadn't been so significant to Tōru over the past few months, but it's not like he can change that now. The important thing is that he's getting out and it feels like such a relief. A part of him wonders if this would've been the one time he'd been willing to get fully invested and open up, had it actually worked out. But he dismisses that thought Maybe it really could've been all, but now it's nothing. Because if he can't have it — and yes, he wanted to have it — then he no longer wants it. That's what he decided.


End file.
